Glance
by TeaRoses
Summary: Answer to a WIKTT Challenge. Severus wishes he could help Hermione with her aversion to touch. SSHG
1. Default Chapter

This is the beginning of an answer to the "Prudish Hermione" challenge on WIKTT. While it is SS/HG and involves sensuality, I'm keeping it at a PG-13.   
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J K Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Entertainment and others, not by me. No copyright infringement intended or implied, and I'm certainly not making any money off this.  
  
Glance   
  
She simply doesn't like to be touched. She doesn't cringe, or push people away, but I can tell she's just waiting for the contact to be over. And it doesn't seem to matter who it is, either. Whether it's her little sidekicks who she seems to trust so much, or other girls, or Minerva with a friendly hand on the shoulder.   
  
Of course, I know I'm looking at her far too much to have noticed this at all. I tell myself that it is only me and my discreet eyes, and that I would never deliberately disturb her in any way.   
  
Sometimes I wonder if she were somehow abused. Such enormities can of course happen to even the strongest of women with the most loyal of companions. But still, I can't help suspecting that if anyone hurt her I would have long ago heard of some student or wizard who knows her dying a mysterious and painful death. Also, she doesn't seem otherwise depressed or cowed, simply uninterested, perhaps mildly aversive, to physical contact.   
  
I don't know if she was always like this, because certainly I didn't always look at her. Painful to admit, but it was her emerging womanhood and not her amazing intellect that has focused my attention in this way. I know I should be highly ashamed. Did I already say that I would never trouble her?   
  
I consider touch, sometimes. What if it were my hand on her shoulder? Could I even embrace her, hold her, show her that humans do this and it's quite acceptable to enjoy it? It's a laughable picture though, and I realize that. If she doesn't appreciate such from Harry or Ginny, why on earth would she suddenly change her mind when her sternest, most oppressive teacher presents himself?   
  
Why should I bother to lie? I think of other forms of touch as well. Kissing her hand, perhaps, or drawing a finger slowly, gently down the side of her neck. A lover's touch, and I will admit it, though even in my imagination I don't take it any further than such small gestures. My wish for her response, of eyes closed in appreciation, of that soft intake of breath, would never be fulfilled. Even if she embraced physicality, it would never be with me.   
  
She will be gone forever soon. School is nearly over; the dark threat is gone. I will become only a shadow on her memory. The severe one, the one who taught Potions with a fervor and served the Order with abrasive resentment. If I am really unlucky she has seen the direction of my gaze, and I will be the one who should have kept his glance to himself.   
  
I won't bother to deny thinking she is uniquely lovely, admirably strong-minded, and completely brilliant. If I ever had the good fortune to be able to choose a woman, it would a woman like her. No, it would be her, simply that, and I won't pretend otherwise.   
  
I will almost certainly see her again in private before she leaves. She has spoken with me alone before, about class assignments or work for the Order, and once even to plead my mercy on poor Neville. She will say good-bye to me individually I am certain, and I won't deny myself that interview. But I will have to be on watch, not to ask her what it is that makes her almost imperceptibly shrink away from everyone, why this seems to be the only fear she has ever shown. Not to say to her that I constantly wish it could be me to help her appreciate hands, and skin, and simple caresses.   
  
What shall I say to her then? Nothing much, I imagine. Simple good wishes and encouragement, perhaps a dark warning or two to keep her from thinking too well of me. Nothing else. Because not all the wizardry in the world can make Hermione Granger comfortable in her own body, or cause her to accept me of all men as her teacher in matters of the senses. 


	2. Chapter 2

I hide cravenly in my laboratory after the graduation ceremonies, thinking to avoid her. But it's a little passive game I'm playing, because I don't even put the wards up. In the end the knock comes on the door and I know who it must be. Though our personal connection is perhaps tenuous, I have made such with no other student.   
  
She stands in the doorway, wearing not her school robes but an attractive muggle dress. "Professor Snape. I wanted to say good-bye."   
  
I consider merely nodding and shutting the door again, but even I have limits to my rudeness. And I tire of the game of pretending not to care. So I beckon her inside and gesture for her to sit down.   
  
We make small talk for a bit about her post-graduation plans... apparently she'll be renting an apartment in London and applying for various positions in the Ministry of Magic. My hopes that she would somehow remain at Hogwarts are dashed, but I should have expected that.   
  
She goes on to speak of Harry and Ron, until I finally say that I don't care to hear any more about her scrofulous little friends. I don't mean to be hurtful with that, merely honest, and she takes it in kind. She laughs and asks me what my plans are.   
  
"Mine? Should the final leaving of a bizarre group of seventh years disrupt my life? I'll still be the Potions professor, Miss Granger, forcing unwanted knowledge into thick skulls and praying each day to be spared another Neville Longbottom."   
  
"Neville wasn't so bad," she says, giving me a little smile as if she sees some softness in me to make her think I'll agree.   
  
And I do agree, to an extent. "Well, I'd rather deal with profound incompetence than the grasping spawn of unrepentant Death Eaters."   
  
She laughs again. "At least that's all over."   
  
I sigh. "A great many things are over, Miss Granger. Perhaps not all of them for the best."   
  
I regret this as soon as say it, having the distinct feeling that she knows I am referring to her. But she merely stands to bid me farewell, and reaches out as if to embrace me. I don't want her to force herself in that way, and I back off, putting up my hands.   
  
When I see the hurt look in her eyes I'm not sure what to do. Can't I just pass myself off as an unfriendly bastard as usual?   
  
"Well, am I that repulsive?" she asks. By her tone I know she is trying to joke, but there is still nothing to do now but tell the truth.   
  
"No. It's just that I'm aware of how little you like to be touched, and I don't want you to put yourself through that."   
  
She sits down again. "You've noticed that. I'm surprised, even Ron and Harry think I'm just a bit twitchy. Ginny knows, but that's about it."   
  
I know better than to do this, but I have to ask. "Knows what? Did someone hurt you, Hermione?"   
  
She seems surprised, though I'm not certain whether it is at the use of her name or the intimacy of the question.   
  
"No," she replies eventually. "Nothing so dramatic. I've never really liked to be touched. It always made me feel invaded. As if someone else could control me, make me feel something I didn't want to."   
  
"At first I thought maybe I could get better here at Hogwarts, where power took on a whole new definition. And I do enjoy the company of young men, and even have my little crushes, but I still never enjoyed close dancing or... or anything else. Romantic overtones made the whole problem worse, if anything. I worried even more that my feelings and sensations would be in someone else's control."  
  
"I learned to do what I had to, even initiate contact when people expect it, and fortunately most people simply think I prefer my books to anything else. But I've said enough."   
  
She rises once again to leave. I still can't seem to leave well enough alone.   
  
"Hermione... you're smart enough to know that you're missing out on a whole aspect of life."   
  
She turns then. "I would think you of all people would understand, hiding out here like you do. You don't even talk to people unless you absolutely have to, and then you're hurtful and cutting. When was the last time anybody touched you?"   
  
She puts her hand over her mouth then, and her eyes widen.   
  
"That... that was way out of line, Professor Snape. I'm very sorry."   
  
"It's been a long time, in fact, Miss Granger. But if I remember correctly, I found the experience satisfactory. Does that answer your question?"   
  
Now I've gone much too far, but she doesn't try to leave. Instead she sits down again.   
  
"Why did you even notice?" she asks me then. "And why should you care if I'm missing something from my life?"   
  
This is impossible to answer truthfully. I shrug and sit also.   
  
"I'm an observant man, Miss Granger. As for the rest... perhaps I don't want everyone else to be like me, after all."   
  
She nods. "Is it really so bad if I merely keep my body to myself? I have friends after all, I don't need romance and physical attention, really."   
  
It surprises me to hear her dismiss an entire realm of affection so casually, but I continue.   
  
"Your body is always your own. That's my point, in fact. But of course you're correct, and it's obviously your own choice whether you want to explore this or not. You don't need to change anything, if you are happy this way."   
  
She looks at the ground and murmurs, "Usually I am, but even I wonder what it would be like, sometimes. To be loved physically, in any way."   
  
We're on dangerous ground indeed.   
  
"There are books, Miss Granger. You like books."   
  
"I don't think a spell or a potion will help me with this, or if it would I might regret it."   
  
I smile. "No, I wouldn't suggest that either. I was referring to muggle books, actually. Works about fears and psychology. And there are works in both worlds about sensuality, if you want to take it that far."   
  
She's blushing now, and I stop talking. She waits, clearly gathering her nerve to say something, and finally the words spill out.   
  
"We've never talked like this before, Professor, and I don't like thinking we'll never talk again."   
  
"Perhaps you'll visit your old alma mater someday then. I imagine I'll still be here; I have a few good years left in me I suppose."   
  
She shakes her head. "You've been actually sensitive to me. I want... I want to follow up somehow."   
  
She waves her wand to conjure up a piece of parchment and a quill.   
  
"Here, this is my address in London, and my phone... oh how could I forget you don't have a phone? Use the floo then, or whatever you prefer."   
  
"Miss Granger, you do, as you said, already have your own friends. I'm really not certain what you expect me to..."   
  
She cuts me off. "If you want to act like you don't give a damn about me after all, go ahead. But keep this, just in case."   
  
She holds out the paper and I take it. She doesn't let go and I watch our hands nearly touch as we both grip the parchment. Finally she lets go.   
  
"I will keep this, Hermione," I say then, and she breaks eye contact with me and leaves.   
  
As I put the parchment in my desk I cast a memorization spell on the contents. I can't think what flimsy excuse I will come up with to contact a former student but I can only hope that the time for excuses is past.   
  
(A.N. Thank you very much for all the reviews and kind words. I hope you enjoyed this second chapter; there will be a third last chapter coming soon.) 


	3. Chapter 3

Here is the third and last short chapter of this work. I'm very sorry it took so long for this to be finished. I'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing.   
  
Chapter 3

I continue to think of her in the days that pass, and to discreetly acquire news of her welfare. Just as I am certain I will no longer be able to refrain from contacting her, she sends me an owl herself.   
  
There is even an invitation implied, so I make arrangements to visit her the next afternoon. My pureblood family would doubtless be horrified at the prospect of me flooing directly to an unmarried girl's apartment. Then again they would shocked enough at the interest I am pretending not to have in a muggle-born woman. I shrug it all off and go.   
  
She greets me politely with tea and cookies. We both know how I hate small talk, but even I am not careless enough to ask this particular person blunt questions about intimate matters. And I am interested, in any case, in the progress of her budding career in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.   
  
"Cleaning up problems with Muggles? That sounds like you. But you'll end in the Wizengamot I quite imagine."   
  
She raises her eyebrows. "If anyone else had said that I'd suspect a compliment."   
  
"Don't make such a mistake with me."   
  
She nods, then looks me in the eye, keeping her face at an angle as if she is observing my reaction.   
  
"You may be surprised to hear that I read a few books."   
  
"Why would I ever be surprised to hear that?"   
  
She looks impatient. "You know what I'm talking about, Professor Snape!"   
  
"I'm not your Professor any more!" I snap. Then I look at her more calmly.   
  
"Yes, I know," I say, and gesture at her to continue.   
  
She is still giving me that strange sideways glance.   
  
"I think perhaps you were right, and I am missing out on something. I don't have to give myself up, to be touched. Perhaps."   
  
"You read this?"   
  
"I read many things. I read of people who were afraid, who became less so. Of women who were strong, yet let others near them. It's not as if I never thought it could be pleasant, and I can consider it more seriously now."   
  
I suddenly have an urgent need to know why she is telling me this, but again no way to ask.   
  
"There's no way to wish you future success in your endeavors without it sounding deeply wrong, is there?"   
  
She looks at me more directly then.   
  
"I still... haven't found anyone, if that's what you mean?"   
  
Counting all the ways in which it's the biggest mistake I could ever make with her, I reach out then and brush my fingers over her cheek.   
  
She puts her hand over mine. I think at first she is stopping me, but she is only holding my hand and guiding it over her face and neck. She looks at me almost curiously, and I raise my hand to her hair and stroke it.   
  
She is closing her eyes now, and I hope it is because she is enjoying my touch and not because she is pretending this is not me. I murmur her name very softly, and when she responds with a small smile I am reassured.   
  
I put both hands on her shoulders then, and run them lightly down her arms. This is undeniably an intensely sensual experience for me, and I'm quite certain she feels the same. But though it doesn't seem to be threatening her, I know when to stop. When my hands reach hers I clasp them gently, then let go.   
  
She is still gazing at me, then she herself reaches out and touches my face and my regrettable hair for a bit. It is a moment too solemn to interrupt.   
  
I take her hand for an instant and kiss it, needing to establish that what I think is happening here is in fact the case. And again she nods and smiles.   
  
I want to end this while it's still going so well. Or perhaps part of me wants to ruin it, because all I can come up with is to rather bluntly state that it's time for me to return to Hogwarts.   
  
But she is an intelligent woman, and expects nothing else from me. She merely nods, and asks when I can return.   
  
"As soon as you desire," I can't resist saying.   
  
"Very soon then," she replies.   
  
I nod, and as I step into the fireplace I finally smile myself.


End file.
